


Fury

by Mischiefy



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Lives (Merlin), Arthur has given up, Arthur just plays dead and looks pretty, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Merlin Saves the Day (Merlin), Merlin hasn't, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 18:16:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20568740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mischiefy/pseuds/Mischiefy
Summary: Merlin's limbs are shaking violently in feral rage and absolute, complete terror as he stands up, glaring furiously up at the clouded sky –he doesn’t notice how dark the world has become, he doesn’t notice the tremors that are shaking the Earth’s core, the all-encompassing, suspended silence that seems to have enveloped everything but Merlin and his king, charged with immortal energy.“I won’t let you take him!”





	Fury

**Author's Note:**

> Why, hello there!  
So- this story is my attempt to sketch down a scene that keeps coming back to my mind.  
It relies heavily on images and visuals and very little plot...ehm. Yep.  
I hope you like it nevertheless :)
> 
> -unbeta'd-

_“Just…Just hold me, please”_

It takes Merlin a moment to understand what’s going on, what Arthur’s doing.

When he does, though, when it downs on him – that idiotic _prat _is giving up, he has stopped fighting, he’s bloody dying in Merlin’s arms!- his eyes widen and he pales, white, hot fury coursing through his veins.

And then he’s angry, angrier than he’s ever been in his life, angrier than he thought he could ever be- because Arthur’s not going to die, not now, and whoever wants him to believe the contrary be fucking damned.

His limbs are shaking violently in feral rage and absolute, complete terror as he stands up, glaring _furiously_ up at the clouded sky –he doesn’t notice how dark the world has become, he doesn’t notice the tremors that are shaking the Earth’s core, the all-encompassing, suspended silence that seems to have enveloped everything but Merlin and his king, charged with immortal energy.

That deadly, unnatural quiet is broken only by Arthur’s labored breaths- the king’s now staring at his manservant, eyes wide in awe and fright.

“Merlin” he whispers, half-worried and half-terrified.

But the warlock doesn’t hear him. He doesn’t hear anything but his own pulse, his own blood rushing in his ears.

“I won’t let you take him!”

His enraged cry reverberates loudly in the air- his voice is not human anymore, it’s a voice ancient as the Earth, as the Gods. It’s the pained howl of magic, of Emrys.

Merlin’s staring up at the sky, almost daring it to defy him, to strike him down for his hubris- he doesn’t care anymore, about prophecies and legends and _destiny_.

He only knows, deep in his bones, that it’s not Arthur’s time yet- he doesn’t want it to be, and for once his _will_ would have to be _enough_.

And suddenly he knows what to do, what to say- maybe it’s his magic’s way of helping him, maybe it’s destiny’s itself, telling him he’s right, the king’s time has not come yet.

He doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t care either.

“_Anál nathrach, orth' bháis's bethad, do chél saol a thabhairt_”

His roar, his _demand_ reaches the High Heavens and by some sort of miracle, of _mercy_ they comply.

The air thins around them as lightning comes down from the sky and strikes the soil between him and his king.

Rain starts to wash over them- and the water it’s made of…

Merlin’s never tasted, never felt something so completely, truly pure, something so gentle.

Heavy drops pour from the sky and over their tired bodies, they soak the king’s heavy cloak and seep into his mortal wound.

Merlin falls to his knees- blessed, relieved tears mingling with the raindrops as they fall down his cheeks.

He knows what it means- the Gods have listened to him. They’re healing Arthur… the king is _safe_.

Elated sobs wrench his ribcage as he crawls across the plain in an effort to reach Arthur’s unconscious form.

The tears and the heavy rain make it difficult for him to see, but he fumbles blindly around in the mud until his hands come across Arthur’s cold leg.

Rain’s still incessantly pouring down over them, and Merlin can see the point where it’s cleansing the infected gash on Arthur’s side- it’s glowing, faintly.

Without thinking, Merlin pulls the body of his king closer, until he’s lying safely on his lap- it’s not an easy feat. It leaves him panting heavily.

Nevertheless, his arms circle the king’s waist and pull him closer still, until Merlin can feel the subtle shift of a breathing chest next to his.

With tears once again in his eyes, the warlock keeps his king closer and holds him tight even as he falls asleep, his head buried in the crook of Arthur’s neck.

Heavy rain keeps pouring over them all night long.


End file.
